Bridal Potatoes

In honor of the intense feelings I am experiencing and hereby celebrating, I am paying particular homage to the potato. On the bridal caboose the potato is more than just a starch that starlets eschew because Dr. Atkins and Jennifer Aniston say so. It's more than just a vegetable; more than a root; more than a delicious-when-fried accompaniment to almost any type of meat. Yes, the potato, especially when served hot, is a metaphor for the creative ways that human beings struggle to hold and experience all of their feelings.

You know how sometimes you can talk to someone who is depressed and walk away feeling depressed yourself, when just before speaking to Ms. I Need Prozac you felt as chipper as a chipmunk? You have taken a hot potato.

Or, you know how your Beloved may have a really bad day at work-- one where his accomplishments are diminished and his time is disrespected-- and then he'll come home and "snap" at you, and next thing you know you feeling angry and hurt, which makes no logical sense because you had good day at work? Get yourself come ketchup, because you just took a hot potato.

How about when you talk to a friend who feels ashamed about something, but by the end of the conversation you feel that unmistakable hotness in your cheeks and grumble in your belly-- all of the somatic symptoms of shame? You can do it like the Belgians and douse it in some mayo, but you have a hot potato.

Anyway, in a loving reframe of my own propensity to take hot potatoes from other people who are having intense feelings, I am celebrating my wedding day with an ackowledgement that I will sometimes take on Jeff's feelings; I will sometimes want him to take on mine; I will sometimes take feelings from my bridemaids and my family members....and it will burn my hands and sometimes my lips if I don't catch myself soon enough to avoid taking a bite. So I am going to wash 8 potatoes and give each of my bridesmaids one. We are going with the professional photographer to a little store front on Randolph Street between Green and Racine where the only words on a brick wall are "HOT POTATO." We will raise our hands high and celebrate our feelings in all of their annoying majesty.